and then i could convince myself it's true
by The Peace
Summary: Una's hurt breaks Rilla as if it were her own, and Rilla could give, could and wants to give in to that something, if only Una would let her know that it is okay. [Post-RoI, Rilla/Una]


**Sneaking in under the wire for femslash February! Because why should Walter and Ken have all the RoI-era slashy fun?**

**Title is from "It's True" by Lene Marlin.**

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**and then i could convince myself it's true**

The night before Rilla Blythe's wedding is a rather solemn affair. She doesn't quite mean for it to be this way - and she is excited, truly, to be marrying Ken.

It's just…nothing will ever be the same. She'll never be able to come back to her little white room, never sleep in her narrow bed again (she'll be sleeping with Ken, sharing _his_ bed, and the thought makes Rilla quail with nervousness and makes her heart beat faster with excitement, all at the same time). Never whisper with Betty Mead and Miranda Pryor behind the schoolhouse and exchange barbed comments with Jen Vickers. Never run down to the manse to see Una.

The last one upsets her the most - it seems as though Rilla had only just discovered the kindred spirit within the older girl, and now she has to leave her. They promised to write, of course, but it's not the same without being able to see Una's face, hear her voice.

Which is why, on this night before everything will change, Rilla asks Una to sleep over. They whisper and chatter and Rilla easily confesses her fears about marrying Ken, moving to Toronto, and Una soothes her as she always does, hand gentle in her hair. And something tugs at Rilla's heart, more than comfort or pity, something sweet and soft. It's something Rilla's been feeling more often, lately - not something she likes to think about, because she's not sure it's correct, or proper, and Mother always talks about Diana Wright but Rilla thinks not even Mother understands this entirely. Something more than her old worship of Irene Howard (how Rilla blushes to think of her youthful follies), something that makes her take Una's hand now, press it between hers like her touch could make a difference.

"I'll miss you, you know," Rilla says. She hasn't said it so plainly before, but she thinks perhaps Una needs to hear it, needs to know how much Rilla has come to care for her.

Una simply looks at her, eyes kind, and Rilla knows that Una will never make her feel guilty for leaving, even though she should - Una, who gives and gives and never takes, never asks anyone to give back, and sometimes Rilla just wants to shake her and demand that she ask for more, because Una's hurt breaks Rilla as if it were her own, and Rilla _could_ give, could and wants to give in to that something, if only Una would let her know that it is okay.

"And I you," is all Una says, lips curving into a small smile.

"I wish I didn't have to leave you."

"It will be lonely," Una says slowly, as though every word is costing her something - her pride, her strength, perhaps. "With you gone."

And with those words, for a moment, Una lets her mask slip, and she looks so sorrowful, so helpless, eyes bright and mouth trembling. Rilla can't think of what to do, what she _should_ do-only what she wants to do. And it's all she can think of, so she does it: she leans in and kisses Una.

Una is not like Ken, a softness to her cheekbones and jawline that he lacks. For all that the war has changed him, Ken is still confident with his mouth and hands; he kisses Rilla like it's something he's been doing all his life. Una is less sure, and Rilla finds herself taking the lead, cupping the other girl's face, tangling her hair. She wryly thinks about the boys in town, the ones who never look twice at Una - they would more than look if they knew what Rilla knows now, how Una's lips are full and soft, how she sighs and then gasps just a little, and her fingers tighten around the hand Rilla is still clasping.

Rilla becomes a bit bolder, brushes her fingers down Una's neck, her too-sharp collarbone, slips past the neckline of her nightgown. Too bold, perhaps - Una pulls back as if shocked.

"Don't do this," she says, so quiet and sad.

"Do what?" Rilla asks, though she thinks she knows. _Don't make me feel this way and then leave. Don't be like Walter. _

"You're going to marry Ken," Una says, too gentle to be rebuking. She covers Rilla's hand where it touches her face, then gently places it back in Rilla's lap. "You don't - need to pity me. Not this way."

"I'm _not_," Rilla says fiercely, wishing she could make Una _understand, _understand how much she cares, how much she wants things to be different - that she weren't in love with two people, that Walter were alive and here to love her, that Rilla could split herself into two, that she could stay with her.

But these things cannot be, and all Rilla can do is give a little bit, and it's not enough for either of them, but it's all she has.

"It's late," Una says, and she turns away and crawls into the bed that Miss Oliver used to sleep in, pushed up against Rilla's own. She burrows into the covers and perhaps she would cry if she were in her own room, but here there is only silence.

Rilla climbs into her own bed silently, watching Una's side move up and down with the rhythm of her breathing.

"Una," she says, softly.

For a moment, Una doesn't move, even her breathing still. But then she quietly turns over, meets Rilla's eyes. She does not say a word, but then, she does not need to. Neither of them do, for they will never speak of this again. But for now, Rilla moves closer than she should, curls up to Una and tucks the smaller girl - older but so much more fragile - into the curve of her body.

Tomorrow, she will marry Ken, and everything will be as she had planned it in her sixteen-year-old flights of fancy. But tonight, she slides her hand over the other girl's waist, giving all that she wishes she could express, and Una reaches down and covers it with her own and murmurs that it is alright, just this once.


End file.
